


Just a Little

by AnnieforSimonsflower



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Drama, Explicit Language, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-26
Updated: 2005-09-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 19:12:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10815009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieforSimonsflower/pseuds/AnnieforSimonsflower
Summary: The Trio are caught in Hogsmeade. Voldemort decides to have a little fun before offering Hermione a horrible choice.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This story is archived on behalf of Simons_flower, who passed away in 2009, by her designated archivist.

**Author's Note:** My evil!Muse has been whacking me in the head demanding I write this. Can I help it if I have a soft spot for the scene in _Empire Strikes Back_ when Han is being tortured by Darth Vader and, afterward, he is brought back to the cell he, Leia and Chewbacca share? Then Leia kisses him.

**Just a Little  
Part I**

_  
Hermione  
_

I paced. It was just about all I could without ripping my fingernails out one by one clawing at the stone walls. We had thought ourselves invincible. That didn't last long. A half-dozen Death Eaters Apparating in front of us in Hogsmeade, a few curses thrown at us, and here we are.

I think we were thrown in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, but as we were unconscious when we were brought here, I don't know where _here_ is.

For me, they've provided a cell. Stone walls on three sides, the fourth iron bars. The barred side opens to a larger room.

In the larger room to my left are empty shackles. Harry is kept in these at night. He was taken away a while ago; every once in a while, I can hear a masculine scream echo in the corridors. It unnerves me every time.

To my right is Ron. He, too, is in shackles; his wrists and ankles are abraded from tugging futilely at them. I'm sure his shoulders ache from having his hands forced behind him all day, but I haven't heard a word of complaint from him.

We're both worried about Harry. Every morning -- at least it's probably morning since that's when we receive breakfast -- Harry is taken away. He isn't returned to us until our dinner arrives.

Every day he looks worse. Thinner, as if that were possible. His cheekbones now stand out like knives in his face. His scar has been throbbing an angry red since we arrived. I think Voldemort has been torturing him, but Harry says nothing.

When he is returned to us at the end of the day, his hands are manacled but his ankles are left free. It allows him to curl up in a fetal position all night. He has had no nightmares since we were brought here -- I think he's living them all day long now.

I ache at not being able to comfort him in any of the ways Ron and I have learned. Not being able to hug him or kiss the pain away. But that's why it's called torture.

 

_ Ron _

When I sit against the wall, I'm able to have my hands in front of me. But if I sit even a few feet away, my arms are pulled behind me. My wrists and ankles are raw, but it doesn't bother me. They -- the Death Eaters -- have said nothing to me, just give me a look from behind their masks that is all at once condescending and amused.

Since Harry and I were wrapped up in a mind-numbing kiss when we were abducted, I'm sure the condescension is because they think we're both gay. If only they knew, it would probably be worse for us, especially Hermione. I'm torn between ecstatic happiness that Hermione is here with us and utter despair for the same reason.

I can live with the shackles. The hooded bastards have done nothing to me beyond starving me. I can live with that. But they keep Hermione locked in a cell, leering at her as if all they wanted to do was rape her; and Harry...I try not to think about what they're doing to Harry. When he returns each evening from wherever they've been keeping him, he looks like he's been wrung through hell, and that description is being kind.

Normally I would say "ridden hard and put away wet" -- a Muggle phrase Hermione taught me and we used on Harry one night after a Quidditch practice -- but that would taint our memory of a very pleasant evening.

I can't help but wonder what their plans are for Hermione and I. We can't even begin to formulate a plan of action to get out of here until Harry is given time to recover. I worry that if his torture is kept up, it will kill him soon.

 

_ Harry _

I've lost track of how many days have gone by since we were stupid enough to get caught. All because I wanted to grab dinner outside our apartment for once; so we Flooed over to the Three Broomsticks for a nostalgic turn.

We didn't even know the Death Eaters were attacking until it was too late. I shouldn't have let my guard down -- but seeing Ron flustered after serious Hermione teasing was too much to resist. Hermione so rarely involved herself in our childish antics, that when she did, she usually got one over on us. And seeing Ron with his mouth hanging open...well, I had to close it somehow.

The smile on my lips makes me wince. I can't count the number of times I've been subjected to Cruciatus. Never for very long -- Voldemort doesn't want me insane -- but long enough to feel like every bone in my body gets broken in a split second. I used to be able to resist the curse since it's all in the mind like Imperius, but that ability is long past.

I'm not sure what he wants yet. Voldemort hasn't seen fit to tell me. I think he's waiting for me to break. He tried using a Dementor, but as I passed out after a few minutes, he hasn't used one since.

Sometimes all he does is hang me by my wrists from the ceiling. Other times, he chains me to the wall then leaves. On those days, I become the main exhibit in a Death Eater show-and-tell. "Look," they say, "see the Boy Who Lived. Not so great, after all, is he?" The laughter is what bothers me the most.

The cell I'm brought back to at night is the one I share with Ron and Hermione. I can't bear to look at them, knowing it's my fault we're here. So I curl into a ball and try to sleep, pretending my body doesn't scream in agony with every movement.

My only thought all night is that I wish I'd been taken alone. Knowing Ron and Hermione are likely going to die because of me -- probably in front of me -- is more than I can bear. If it had been only me, I could live with myself. If they weren't here with me, I'd have a reason to live.


	2. Part II

**Just a Little  
Part II**

_  
Hermione  
_

He's doing it again.

I sit cross-legged with my knees resting against the bars, watching the boys all night. Harry twitches and moans in his sleep, one hand rubbing his scar. Occasionally he mutters, "No, not them, me." _That's_ how I know he's doing it again -- trying to play solo savior of the world.

Watching Ron is different. He and I don't talk much here. I think we both know the room is being watched somehow -- I would say bugged but would then have to explain it to Ron. Harry and I roll our eyes and laugh when Ron takes a particularly long time understanding Muggle concepts. It hurts to think about Harry, so I study Ron.

I sometimes think I'm watching him play chess as he sits chained to the wall. He observes every hooded figure with the intensity of a predator, a copper-colored eagle or lion. Were he not chained and I imprisoned, I think Ron's sheer will would have all three of us out of here by now.

It must be morning as there is a guard bringing food. There is a plate for Harry, placed near his head; there is a plate for me, slid through the bars; and, surprisingly, there is a plate for Ron this morning, placed at his side. Just bits of bread and an apple for each of us. Ron glances down at the plate, then slowly brings his gaze upward to the guard.

I catch a flash of silver a moment before Ron spits, "Wormtail." The guard lowers his hood and pushes up his sleeves. His silver hand gives him away. "Why?"

Wormtail looks frightened. Somehow, I don't think he was supposed to feed Ron. Harry they keep fed in order to torture. I try not to think about why they feed me as I'm never sure my meager sustenance will stay down if I dwell on those thoughts.

"Something will happen today," Wormtail whispers barely loud enough for me to hear as well. Ron just gazes unblinkingly at him. Their eyes lock. I don't know what Ron's expression told Wormtail, but the man begins trembling, before he turns and nearly runs out the door.

"Ron?" I begin quietly.

 

_ Ron _

Hermione calls my name. I don't want to look at her, to see the same thought in her eyes that's in my mind -- that this is my last meal.

So I instead call Harry's name. He stirs, groaning, but doesn't wake. Carefully, I edge forward until I'm at the end of my chains, and yell, "Harry! Wake up!"

He startles and bolts upright. His green eyes burn me with annoyance overlying the pain he must be feeling. "What?" he spits. I ignore the annoyance, knowing he's never in a good mood when he awakens.

"Wormtail was just here," I answer. Harry had never been one to be afraid of anyone, Voldemort (and I refrain from shuddering as I think his name) included. But when I mention Wormtail, I see Harry's shoulders hunch forward and his eyes lower as if expecting a blow.

The posture reminds me of something and it takes a long minute before I can remember. It reminds me of how Harry used to look after summers with the Dursleys. That fact, the fact that Voldemort and his minions can take away the self-confidence Hermione and I have helped Harry earn and reduce him to the secondhand child the Dursleys would have loved to have given away, pisses me off more than my impending death.

Now I look over at Hermione. She has tears in her eyes as she watches Harry. She must see the little boy again, too. She turns to me, brown eyes luminous, as she stuffs a fist into her mouth to stop herself from calling out.

I shuffle backwards until I can move my legs freely, then I return to the wall. Cursing, I kick the wall savagely. Damn, that hurt. I wonder if I broke something. Not that it matters much if I'm going to die today.

"Ron?" Harry calls. His voice has a lost tone threaded through it. Shit. All I want to do is wrap my arms around him, kissing his face gently. To be as gentle with him as Voldemort has been brutal.

 

_ Harry _

I call Ron's name again. Everything in my body aches. Ron is limping a bit after kicking the wall. Other than general frustration, I don't know why he did that. Maybe after being in here so long, he's beginning to lose it.

Ron turns to me finally, his expression determined. "I was told something would be happening today." I look from him to Hermione, puzzled. Hasn't something already happened every day?

Hermione's been crying again. I can see it in the bloodshot eyes she fixes upon me. Her clothes and face are filthy, but she still manages to look regal as she rests her forehead against the bars of her cage. She smiles faintly.

"Something happening today?" I whisper. Single words I can manage without too much effort; sentences have to be ripped from my raw throat.

Ron says, "Yes, that's what I was told. Have some of your apple, it'll help your throat."

I look down and see the usual breakfast plate beside me. I have to concentrate to grasp the apple and get my mouth to work correctly to eat it. _Too many Cruciatus curses_ , I think to myself. My muscles are beginning to disobey simple commands.

I have barely finished half the apple when an insidious cold begins to seep into me, leeching what little strength of will I have left. What surprises me most is that I don't begin to hear my mother's voice, but Hermione and Ron's crying out the day we were captured.

" _Dementor_ ," I hear Ron call before he falls to his knees. Right in one.

Hermione keens in her cage. She has her arms around her knees and is rocking side to side, chanting, "No...no."

The door to our jail room opens with a quiet 'snick' -- and it heralds the arrival of a Dementor and Voldemort himself.


	3. Part III

**Just a Little  
Part III**

_  
Hermione  
_

I rock from side to side, trying to keep the awful sensations at bay. I now understand why Harry is prone to pass out when he is near one of these...creatures...too long. I can't think. Or, more correctly, I can't think of anything but despair. All of our previous encounters with Dementors haven't lasted long because Harry or Ron casts a Patronus and the bloody thing disappears. But since none of us has our wands, that is not a possibility here.

Glancing up at Ron, I see that he's dropped to his knees, hands on either side of his head as if to squeeze the Dementor out.

Harry, on the other hand, has managed to stand, staring at Voldemort and his unearthly companion.

"So," Harry spits, "you have to bring reinforcements." He is slowing becoming paler, scar standing out more lividly in contrast. If I could think, if I were free, I'd stand behind him, holding him up. For the moment, though, he seems okay, if somewhat hoarse and shaky.

"Trying to be brave, I see," croons Voldemort. The tone makes my skin crawl. It's almost as if he's trying to seduce a lover with that tone.

_Wait...no...he can't be._ An awful thought occurs to me. What if the torture he's been subjecting Harry to is because he wants Harry at his side and Harry won't go? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I note that Ron has fallen onto the floor and is twitching slightly, like a dog dreaming. Somehow, I don't think that's good. Harry has now moved himself closer to the wall, bracing himself against it with one hand. It's a miracle he's stayed on his feet this long -- must be his sheer stubbornness.

Voldemort's burning red eyes bore into Harry's green ones. They seem to be testing each other, playing chicken.

The Dementor takes another step into the room throwing the balance of that game off. Harry's resolve breaks and he is the one to drop to his knees this time, eyes closed, breath hissing from between his teeth. 

I try to hold onto my thoughts, but I'm so cold I can't think. Every instance of failure I've experienced is rushing to the fore. Every fear I've had of failing school or failing these two men weighs me down. _Why are we trying to fight? We're just going to lose._

 

_ Ron _

Mired in the depths of despair.

That phrase never made sense until now. It seems like I'll never be happy again. Was I ever happy before? How in the hell do the prisoners of Azkaban stand this? I'm so cold I could be an ice lolly. _Hmm...I wonder what flavor?_ Stop it!

I desperately try to stop the shaking of my limbs and search for one happy thought. Just one.

"I wouldn't exactly call it brave, Tom," Harry taunts, even though he's on his knees and it looks like the wall is the only thing keeping him from falling completely onto the ground. Hard to be defiant when you're laying flat on your back and looking like death.

"My name is Lord Voldemort, whelp," the Dark Lord corrects.

Somehow I remember our second year and the Chamber of Secrets, of how afraid I was Ginny would be dead by the time Harry found her. But she wasn't. Harry saved her. He killed a basilisk, killed an incarnation of Tom Riddle and saved my sister. A hero at the age of twelve.

Slowly, I feel the Dementor's hold loosen. I must have found a happy memory. My limbs have stopped shaking, but I can't seem to move off the stone floor.

_Think, Weasley, think._ Happy thoughts. Then what pops into my mind is the same one that was there earlier: Harry, post-Quidditch practice. My eyes fix on Harry, the sweat streaming down his face as he struggles to keep his sanity in the face of the Dementor and Voldemort. I close my eyes to savor the memory.

_It was a hot day and Hermione and I were home, cuddling and watching the telly. Just before dinner, we heard Harry Apparate into the front hall. Hermione and I both leapt up, startled, and ran to the front hall. Harry was dripping wet with sweat. It had molded his uniform to his body, damp patches on his chest and armpits._

_Before I could say anything, Hermione smiled that wicked smile she has, one corner of her mouth turned up, tongue just visible, and said in a low voice, "You should get out of those wet clothes, Harry." Harry swept his fringe off his forehead in an effort to stop the sweat from dripping into his eyes._

_Seeing Hermione's smile, he began to grin. "Maybe you should help me." I stepped forward and began to unlatch his armguards. He turned that half-grin on me and I thought I would melt. He knows what that grin does to both Hermione and I and uses it to his full advantage._

_By the time we had his uniform off, we were damp as well, both with our own sweat and arousal as well as Harry's. I don't remember making it out of the entry until a long while later, after a leisurely exploration -- and use -- of Harry's body by both of us. Not that he protested._

Blinking, I realize I'm not cold anymore. In fact, I'm quite uncomfortably warm. And suffering no effects of the Dementor. Sitting up, I look over at Hermione, who is nearly catatonic. She needs to know how to fight it.

"Hermione," I call harshly.

Voldemort turns to me. "Weasley, I think you should be quiet." At the edges of my awareness, I can feel the tentacles of his power teasing at mine. I draw my magic inside me, just in case that snake bastard has found a way to do something with it.

 

_ Harry _

I should probably worry when the damp stone wall of a dungeon is warmer than I am. I lean heavily on the wall, trying to draw some meager warmth from it without appearing to be so weak, even thought I'm on my knees at Voldemort's feet.

"Leave him alone, Tom," I demand. While my throat feels raw, I can't think about that now and try to inject strength into my voice. I remember from the last confrontation Ginny had with Voldemort that he has a real weak spot when it comes to his name.

Voldemort's attention returns to me. He smiles. I had forgotten how awful it is to see him smile.

"I think I should leave you three alone together," he says slowly. "For old times' sake." That doesn't sound good.

Voldemort waves his hand across the room, encompassing all of us. The shackles holding Ron and I release and the door to Hermione's cage opens. 

"I'll be back later." And with that last promise, Voldemort turns and leaves us, taking his pet Dementor with him.

Whatever had been holding me upright until now, leaves. I collapse against the floor of the dungeon, breathing heavily. I hear a metallic squeal and clang as Hermione opens the door to her cage; I hear metallic clangs as Ron disentangles himself from his shackles.

Ron lifts me up into a sitting position, my own shackles falling off, bracing me against his chest. Hermione kneels in front of me, brushing the hair out of my eyes. I can feel Ron trembling slightly as he holds me. When one of his hands brushes against my arm, it seems much damper than it should be. I pry my eyes open and look down. His wrist is raw, blood coating it like a bracelet.

"Ron," I whisper, horrified, grasping his arm gently. Somehow, the fact that I'm injured doesn't hurt me as much as seeing Ron, or Hermione, hurt. He shrugs. In male communication: this is something not to be discussed.

Hermione cradles my face between her palms. I shift my gaze to her. Up close, she looks ravaged. Still beautiful, but in a much more ethereal way, like an angel dragged through hell.

"Are you doing okay?" she asks, her voice breaking. Instead of answering, I pull her forward into an embrace. I feel Ron press his lips into my hair as I press mine into Hermione's.

"Everything aches," I rasp. "But now I'm doing better." My emotions are as raw as my nerves after the most recent Cruciatus cast upon me.


	4. Part IV

**Just a Little  
Part IV**

_  
Hermione  
_

Harry's face is drawn tight. I think he's feeling worse than he admits. Wait, of course he is. If I've learned anything about men after these two, it's that if they admit they're in pain, it's usually really ten times worse there's something to be gotten out of it. Such as pampering of all sorts in bed.

Ron's face is buried in Harry's hair. By the slight shaking of his shoulders, I think he might be crying. I won't ask, though.

I lean forward and again gently kiss Harry on the lips, his face still cradled in my hands. When I pull back, he opens his eyes. Those beautiful eyes. Damp emeralds framed by jet-black lashes.

"I love you," I whisper. Ron raises his head just enough that he can turn to look at me. His blue eyes are no less damp than Harry's, like a wet sky. He rests his cheek on Harry's head. "I love you, too."

Ron smiles gently, reaching an arm out to pull me in tight. We wiggle a bit until Ron is leaning back against the wall, Harry is seated between his legs and I'm seated between Harry's.

"I wish this hadn't happened," I whisper. I should have seen the Death Eaters when they Apparated in, but I was too busy watching my boys. I'm still amazed at the abandon with which they deal with each other. When we were first together, they seemed to use me for a conduit, but in the last year or so, I've caught them together more than once. And they know how much it turns me on to watch them kiss. I haven't tired of seeing that yet and I don't think I will for a long time.

If we live that long. I'm afraid that Ron is marked for death and Harry is marked for a drawn-out death if he doesn't agree to whatever Voldemort wants of him. As for me...I believe I'm marked for death. I just don't know if I'll be raped first or not.

"I'm sorry," I hear one of them whisper.

The sound is so low, I'm not sure if it's Ron or Harry who whispers it until I hear Ron's reply of, "Don't be daft." Ron shifts a bit until I'm leaning back onto Harry's shoulder and Harry is leaning on his so that we can both look him in the face. "What are you sorry for?"

"Everything...Voldemort... _this_ ," Harry replies.

"Nonsense," I retort. "We willingly followed you. If you had tried to leave us, we'd still follow. Get that through your thick skull. I love you and I'm staying by your side."

"And I love you too, you git," Ron adds.

 

_ Ron _

He's doing it again. Blaming himself. I think Hermione's blaming herself, too, for some reason. It's not really anyone's fault. I could argue that whomever set up the wards around Hogsmeade are to blame. I could blame Harry's stomach for craving food from the Three Broomsticks. I could blame the stars for being misaligned -- and wouldn't the Centaurs love that -- but I won't.

I press another kiss to the top of his head, then lean far forward and kiss Hermione on the forehead.

Harry begins to shiver. Shock. How I know this shiver is different from being cold, I don't know.

"Hermione, wrap Harry up from your side," I direct as I wrap my arms around him and pull him tight against me. Hermione turns around and wraps her arms around him, creating almost a sandwich.

Hermione begins planting small kisses along his jaw and neck. Harry closes his eyes and continues to shiver.

"Harry, you've got to get through this," I tell him harshly. I bend my head to touch my lips to his ear, adding, "We need you. Not the world needs you, _we_ need you."

His voice, at first, is barely above a whisper. "How? I failed you."

Hermione speaks before I can think of an adequate reply. "If you didn't look so damned sexy when you're feeling sorry for yourself, I'd slap you for that. You didn't fail us."

"Yes, I did."

"Goddamnit, you wanker, you didn't fail us," I yell at him. He can be such a stubborn bastard sometimes when overcome with unnecessary guilt. "We were all caught off guard. Hermione was the only one with her eyes open, but you know she can't tear her eyes away when we kiss." That elicits a small chuckle from Harry and a faint blush from Hermione.

"Well, it's a turn on," she protests.

Rather than say anything else -- because I know Harry will find some way of feeling guilty and turning it on himself -- I grab the hair at the back of his head and pull so his face is tilted upward toward mine. Briefly noting the surprise in those green eyes, I lower my lips to his. Running my tongue along the seam of his lips, I coax his mouth open and delve into it, tasting the crevices of his mouth.

Kissing Hermione is wonderful. She's curves and softness, sweetness and home, and I love the way she curls into my chest like a cat when we kiss. Kissing Harry is something completely different. He's angles and hardness, spice and outdoors; there is no middle ground when I kiss him. Maybe that's what turns Hermione on.

 

_ Harry _

To use an old cliché, Ron plunders my mouth like a pirate. And I love it. It seems the more gentle Hermione is, the more forceful Ron becomes. I reach upward to grasp his head, holding it to mine, kissing him back.

And, despite the lingering chill of the Dementor, despite the persistent chill of the dungeon, and most especially despite Voldemort, I am getting incredibly aroused. I can feel Hermione's eyes upon us and hear her breathing become erratic. As Ron threads his fingers through my hair, I feel Hermione climb across me to sprawl herself between us.

I break the kiss off to look down at Hermione. Her eyes are soft with arousal as she looks at Ron and I. Her eyes have the ability to melt me when she looks at me that way. I feel no pain, I feel no despair.

With a wicked little grin, she grabs my head and pulls me down so quickly I barely have time to brace my arms on Ron's thighs. Her tongue invades my mouth in a very un-Hermione-like way. I would almost say she was mimicking Ron's kiss.

I move my hands from Ron's thighs to Hermione's breasts, shifting my weight back onto my legs, kneeling between Hermione's parted legs. Hermione has placed herself snug against the V made by Ron's parted legs and I think I can feel her wiggling against him. Which explains why Ron pulls me away from her mouth so he can kiss her roughly.

She arches up into my hands, moaning. I lean forward and nibble her neck, feeling one of Ron's hands trailing downward to rub against her stomach, teasing at moving lower.

What began as a comfort snog to get me out of the self-pity well I frequently find myself in has flared into a conflagration. Given the situation we're in, we're all so...so... _needy_ that the smallest affection is a torrent of hope.

Hermione frees a hand to scratch my back, causing me to hiss in pain and pleasure. Some of what I have suffered was a whip to the back and Hermione's fingernails drag across all the lashes. Then she makes it down my side and around to the front, caressing me through my trousers.

Before I can moan like I need to, searing pain burns through my scar. As fast as I can, I disentangle myself from my two lovers and jam a fist to my forehead.

"Harry?" Ron croaks. He hasn't gotten his breath or voice back.

"Harry?" Hermione asks quietly, if a bit hoarsely.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" a high, cold voice mocks. _Oh, fuck_. "This isn't what I expected. Nor is it the report I was given."

Sitting on the stone floor and leaning back against the wall, I survey Voldemort through slitted eyes. The smile on his face is even worse than it was before.

"I was told you were gay, Harry, but that's not the whole story, is it?" He seems amused, which is the last thing I want. I keep my mouth shut. Just when there was some bright spot in this nightmare, the darkest part of all returns.

"Girl!" he hisses at Hermione. Turning to look at her, I see her glare defiantly upwards. She hasn't moved from Ron's embrace. When Hermione doesn't reply, Voldemort thrusts a hand out and Hermione rockets toward him, probably due to a silent Summoning Charm.

Hermione is pinned against Voldemort, silent tears suddenly pouring down her cheeks. He bends his head and strokes her cheek with one skeletal finger. "Hmm, this isn't exactly what I would have chosen, but I can work with this."

Ron and I shoot each other a confused glance. Both of us are as jumpy as Crookshanks around Scabbers. An awful laugh draws our eyes back to Hermione and Voldemort.

"Girl," he begins, his voice sibilant and as enticing as a man who is half-snake can be. "Choose."

_No...he can't mean what I think he means._ I swallow hard. _Of course he means that. He killed Cedric for no other reason than he was there._

"W-w-what?" Hermione stammers, sniffling, not wanting to understand.

"Choose between your lovers. One shall live, the other shall die."


	5. Part V

**Just a Little  
Part V**

_  
Hermione  
_

Suddenly, I'm pinned against Voldemort, tears pouring down my cheeks. All I want to do is squirm out of his grasp. He bends his head and strokes my cheek with one skeletal finger. I feel like I've been raped. This is so much worse than sexual violation -- that I could deal with.

"Hmm, this isn't exactly what I would have chosen, but I can work with this."

Ron and Harry shoot each other a confused glance. Voldemort's awful laugh draws their eyes back.

"Girl," he begins, voice sibilant. "Choose."

"W-w-what?" I stammer, sniffling, not wanting to understand. _He can't mean what I think he means. I can't do that!_

"Choose between your lovers. One shall live, the other shall die."

Everything inside me stops: my breath catches, my heart slows, my hearing fails as if I was suddenly deaf. He wants me to choose Death. I can't do it. There is no way I can make that choice. I begin shaking my head back and forth, the motion setting my entire body a-tremble. I feel like a small child in my desire to cover my ears and stomp my feet while chanting, "No!" at the top of my lungs.

"No," I manage to rasp, my voice barely above a whisper.

Voldemort shoves me away into the wall. For a moment, I press my face into the cool stone. I have two thoughts: I cannot resign Harry or Ron to death; and a fervent hope that someone can save us.

"But you must choose," he repeats, sounding almost pleased by my reaction. He points his wand at me and I really don't care. If he kills me, its better than watching Harry or Ron die. I didn't shepherd those two through school to watch them die at Voldemort's feet.

I stare back at Voldemort, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of flinching before those reptilian red eyes. Another smile splits his face looking for all the world like the gate to Hell. "I think you should join your lovers first. Wish them goodbye and all that."

He waves me toward Harry and Ron. While I don't like the order, I'm not going to pass on the opportunity. I stand up and walk over to my boys.

Ron's expression is neutral. He's far too good at chess to give anything away. I think he's afraid I'm going to mark him for death on the unspoken understanding that Harry is the most important of the three of us.

Harry's expression is understanding. He fully expects me to choose him as a sacrifice because he thinks his destiny is to die by the hands -- and at the feet -- of Voldemort.

However, before I reach either one of them, Voldemort says casually, " _Crucio_."

 

_ Ron _

I flinch automatically, as does Harry, when the curse is cast. But once my mind processes that neither of us was hit, I can hear Hermione's awful screams. Hearing her in such pain tears at my heart and my brain. I think I would rather be under the curse myself than hear Hermione or Harry suffer.

Harry stiffens in my arms. I pin his arms to his sides as he begins to fight me, struggling to get up, to save Hermione.

"You can't do anything yet," I growl in his ear. We can do nothing but watch Hermione writhe on the ground in front of us.

With a chilling sound like razors on a blackboard but what must be his attempt at a snicker, Voldemort releases Hermione from the curse.

I still hold Harry back. He fights me, his kicks scraping my shins and elbows bruising my arms. I can't let him go -- I can't let myself go. No matter how much I want to rip that...that... _thing_ limb from limb, I can't let either one of us go. I can't let either one of us lose control.

"Still can't choose?" Voldemort asks Hermione. For anyone else, I would add that he asked amiably. As is, it's all I can do not to vomit.

Hermione lifts her head from the dirty floor. She moves herself into a sitting position, pain making her slow. Her face streaked with grime and eyes blazing in fury, she glares at Voldemort. And spits blood at him.

"Go to hell," she answers, each word drawn out and clearly enunciated. Harry stops thrashing in my arms, clearly stunned at Hermione's defiance. It's just as well he's been ignorant of that side of her until now. Unfortunately, I've been well acquainted with it since fifth year.

"Tsk, tsk, Hermione," Voldemort chides. "That's no way to treat your host." I can feel Harry's dry heave at the tone. More like that and we'll both puke.

I see Voldemort turn to us at almost the same time I hear him say, " _Avada_ \-- "

"No!" Hermione shouts, voice scratchy. She looks at both of us, shoulders slumped and a heartbroken expression in her eyes. She's made her choice. She's saying goodbye.

"No, Hermione." Harry's astonished whisper is so soft only I can hear it.

Tears streaming down her face again, she cries, "I'll choose."

 

_ Harry _

I feel cold to the bone knowing Hermione has given in to Voldemort. That she's going to have him kill one of us. _That she's going to have him kill one of us...._ I don't feel Ron behind me, I don't feel the cold. I feel a burning rage course through me.

_No one should have that power. No one should be forced to make that decision._

Wrenching myself from Ron's grasp, finally, I stand. A wave of dizziness forces me to brace an arm against the wall so I don't fall down.

"Well, well, decided to join the party?" Voldemort says, his tone entirely too cheerful for a Dark Lord. I think he's enjoying this more than an evening of Death Eater torture. Aren't we ever so lucky?

I stare into Voldemort's eyes. I've known that it would come down to he and I. It's something I've been expecting -- that I've _known_ \-- for many years, ever since I was told of Trelawney's first Prophecy. I've known that it would come down to kill or be killed.

I just thought it would be a fair fight. I should have known better.

Voldemort has his wand idle at his side as we engage in our Mexican stand-off. He must think that Hermione and Ron are in check due to fear. How little he knows.

He has underestimated me -- and us -- time and time again. It's how I've walked away from him in various incarnations eight times before. _But even a cat has only nine lives_.

"Yes, Tom, I have," I rejoin. I have to delay him long enough to let the power pool inside me...and to have the chance to stand between Hermione and Ron.

Voldemort twitches at me calling him "Tom," but decides to say nothing this time, not willing to give me that power. That's fine. I know it gets under his skin when he's reminded of who he once was.

"Sacrificing yourself for your lovers?" he asks unctuously. As he raises his wand, he adds, "How sweet."

I grab Hermione and manage to drag her over to Ron and I. Ron hasn't moved since I wrestled my way out of his arms. Placing myself between the other two members of my family, I have to will myself to relax. As my wand was taken, I have to be as relaxed as possible to perform this instance of wandless magic. It's something Hermione thought of and we had been practicing for months.

"I wouldn't say that, Tom," I admonish. The power is swirling deep inside me now, gaining.

"They're _not_ your lovers?" He seems momentarily confused, but it passes quickly.

"They are. Both of them. But I'm not sacrificing myself for them." I give a small hand motion to indicate to Ron and Hermione that I'm almost ready.

Ron wraps one large hand around my left ankle. Those hands that have caressed my body and Hermione's. I know where the calluses are and how they feel as his hands run over my skin.

Hermione wraps one delicate hand around my right ankle. Those hands with fingernails that have scratched erotic tracks into my skin and Ron's, teased delicately at our flesh. I know just where to find the ink stains on them after a long day.

Taking a deep breath, gathering the power inside me and the power flowing through me from my family, I'm ready.

"It's not sacrifice if you don't die." Holding the power just under my skin is maddening. Every welt on my back flares in fire, my scar is shooting agony through my head, my joints throb in the aftermath of Cruciatus. "Kill me, Tom."


	6. Part VI

**Author's Note:** Thanks to my husband for suggesting the manner of the final confrontation, though I don't think this is what he expected me to do with it. Hermione's section is a lot longer, but she had a lot to say.

**Just a Little  
Part VI**

_  
Harry  
_

It may seem like suicide, but I know what I'm doing. I think. Only my great faith in Hermione -- and the power of what she, Ron and I share -- has convinced me this will work. Either that or I really am nutters.

That hellish smile splits Voldemort's face again, his reptilian eyes ablaze with triumph. He thinks he's going to be the winner in this event. He points his wand at the dead-center of my chest.

It's all I can do not to wet myself in fear. Intelligent people do not challenge Voldemort to kill them. Fools and idiots do what I've just done. Just because Hermione says this will work doesn't mean I'm not scared shitless.

The power -- our combined power -- is now thrumming beneath my skin, waiting impatiently for release. Any other time, this could make great foreplay _Hmm, we'll have to try that sometime...._

"I won't make the mistake of going for your head this time, Potter," Voldemort declares. "All things considered, I didn't think you'd make it this easy for me to kill you. I had expected a challenge, not for you to roll over and die like a whipped puppy." He throws a patronizing glance at Ron and Hermione before adding, "Though whipped may not be far from the truth."

In the seconds before he actually casts the spell, a thousand thoughts run through my head. First and foremost is _"What the fuck am I doing?"_ and that is closely followed by _"Have you lost your fucking mind?"_ Common sense tells me I shouldn't stand here and let Voldemort try to kill me. Faith tells me I should stand very still and concentrate.

But it's not really an easy way out or suicide-by-Voldemort. The three of us have something he doesn't have, nor does he understand: love. It's what spared me the first time around. Hermione theorized it can work again when all three of us are involved.

When I hear _"Avada"_ I use the power inside me to cast the strongest shield spell Hermione could find. We've been practicing for months so I could cast it quickly, effortlessly and silently. At _"Kedavra"_ the green light I see in my nightmares bursts from Voldemort's wand and hits me in the chest, right over my heart.

Then blackness consumes me.

 

_ Ron _

When the curse strikes, I pain rips up my arm, fusing my hand to Harry's ankle until the green light dissipates. As Harry collapses, I hear Hermione scream. I want to turn to her and tell her it will be okay, but I can't tear my eyes away from Voldemort.

Our plan seems to have worked much like we expected. The shield Harry built using our combined power reflected the curse back upon its caster.

I can only imagine that what I see now is a echo of what must have happened nearly twenty years ago when Voldemort attacked the Potter family.

The Killing Curse rebounds, more powerful, off Harry to strike Voldemort. Unfortunately for him, the three of us are stronger. The green light envelops him, wrapping around him like a shroud. Once he is fully enclosed within, the light implodes. One ear-splitting shriek and loud _crack!_ later, Voldemort is dead. His body falls unceremoniously to the ground.

I blink.

_That's it? After all the fucking hell -- the torture, the starvation, the rape threats, the death threats -- he's put us through in the last week...that's it? No fanfare. No "I will rise again." Nothing._

Finally, I turn to look at Hermione. Her eyes loom large in her overly-pale face. Two pools of brown drowning in tears. The few freckles she has scattered across her nose stand out in sharp relief. We hold eye contact for a long moment, overwhelmed.

It's only when I try to flex my hand that I realize it's still wrapped around Harry's ankle. Using my left hand, I pry the fingers of my right off his leg, then help Hermione loosen her grip. Blood is on both Harry's ankles. I turn my hand palm upward and am shocked to see a lightning bolt etched into the skin, bleeding lightly.

I grab Hermione's hand and look at her palm. The same scar is marring her palm, also bleeding.

_So, anyone surviving_ Avada Kedavra _gets a lightning bolt scar, not just Harry. Nobody knew -- can't really experiment about that sort of thing._ Blinking rapidly, I realize that we are now the only three to ever have survived the Killing Curse. _Does that make us The Idiots That Lived?_

"Ron?" she gasps. I look up at her, then follow her gaze downward to Harry's back.

A large pool of blood, growing as I watch, is beneath him.

 

_ Hermione _

The pain in my hand is nothing compared to the pain in my heart. _Harry can't die. Not after everything we've been through._

Scrambling as fast as my aching body will allow, I roll Harry onto his back. Ron stares dumbly at us for a long moment, then pulls his shirt off and presses it against Harry's chest to try to staunch the flow of blood.

I reach up to Harry's neck with my unscarred hand, feeling for a pulse. I finally find one, weak and thready.

"He's alive," I tell Ron, my voice raw from screaming. Relief floods through me until I look down again. His shirt is soaked through.

Wordlessly, I pull my shirt off and offer it. Ron presses it hard against Harry's chest. We are silent until Harry stops bleeding. I don't realize that I'm crying until Ron lifts a bloodstained hand to my cheek and wipes tears away.

Ron carefully pulls my shirt from Harry's chest. Burned into the skin there, right over his breastbone, is another lightning bolt scar.

A smile lifts one corner of Ron's mouth. "At least he can cover this one up." Despite everything, I giggle. Ron is always good for a little cheer. Beyond that, I'm trying not to think. If I do, I'll start screaming again.

Ron places a hand on Harry's chest, feeling his heartbeat. After a moment, he turns wide blue eyes up to me, and whispers, "I think he's getting colder."

I shake myself out of my cocoon and really look at Harry. Ron's right. His lips are turning slightly blue, but he isn't shivering.

"Is he dying?" I ask, not really expecting an answer. Like a mantra, I repeat in my head, _Harry can't die._

"Not if he knows what's good for him, the wanker," Ron hisses. He places both his hands on Harry's chest. "Hermione, put your hands on him." I stare at Ron. "Not like that, Hermione, get your mind out of the gutter."

"I didn't say it, you did."

"You were thinking it."

"How do you know?"

"Because that look is usually in your eye before you pounce on one of us." Ron actually blushes as he says this. I didn't know that was still possible. Glaring at me, he clarifies, "Put your hands on his chest."

I do, feeling a curious combination of things emanating from Harry: his normal body heat, cooling ominously, and also a tingling feeling creeping up my left arm from the new scar in my palm. Bringing my eyes back up to Ron's, I wait.

"We're the only healers he has right now. Concentrate on healing him. Think about using your hands as your conduit instead of a wand."

Following directions, I try to gather my good thoughts into one, much like I summoned my power into one thread to let Harry tap into it. Once I've done that, I push that healing power into Harry. Almost at the same time, Ron does something similar.

Having never done something like this before, I don't know what to expect. I watch my power, my healing thoughts, coalesce in a golden pool of light and energy that pours into Harry through his new scar. Ron's energy, bright red, does the same. The threads twine together and spread themselves out underneath Harry's skin.

"Holy fuck," Ron whispers in awe. For once, words fail me.

After a long while, when the threads of our power have worked their way under Harry's skin and throughout his body, he moves. Just a groan and a twitch of a hand, but it's enough.

Tears of joy cascade down my face. Smiling at Ron, I see tears sparkling on his cheeks as well. I throw myself against Harry, kissing his neck and crying. I kiss my way up to his mouth.

Harry's eyes flutter open, the green deeper than usual. A wry grin turns up the corners of his mouth when he finds me crying on him.

His voice is harsh and scratchy when he asks, "What happened?"

Before Ron can say anything, I can't resist. "You've been mostly dead all day."

Harry blinks at me. Then he begins laughing, groaning at the pain in his ribs, but laughing.

It no longer matters that we're still locked in a cell, that we're with the most wanted dead body in many decades, or that we're all bruised and bleeding. We're together.


	7. Epilogue

**Just a Little  
Part VII -- Epilogue -- Six months later**

_  
Harry  
_

When Ron told me later what had happened, I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't bear the scars from it. After everything that had come before, the end seemed so simple it was almost anticlimactic. I feel nothing from the scar at my forehead any longer. It will be with me forever, but it means nothing to me now other than a closed door on my past. It's the scar on my chest that causes the most grief -- it links me to Ron and Hermione.

Ironically, it seems Wormtail freed us from the cell we were in. I was unconscious at the time, but that's what Hermione told me later. When the rescuing Aurors arrived, Wormtail surrendered himself. I can only be bitter that it came too late for Sirius to live as a free man. I haven't figured out yet if he's repaid his wizard's debt to me by doing so or not.

The three of us have settled into a routine of sorts. Before our capture, we used to pretend we were platonic roommates while in public, a relationship no different than at Hogwarts. Since being freed, we make no pretences about our relationship. When asked, Ron is my boyfriend and Hermione is my girlfriend. It is that simple and that complex. Unfortunately, most of the wizarding world doesn't understand. They "accept" it because of who I am, but we know what kind of sidelong glances we get when we go out.

We were kept at St. Mungo's for about a month. The dreaded "observation" period considering our ordeal. Of course, it could just be that the doctor wanted to keep the reporters away since the three of us were in the restricted wing with heavy wards that both kept us in and the reporters out.

I remember the _Daily Prophet_ headlines from that time proclaiming in bold capital letters: _Boy Who Lived Kills Voldemort_ or _Dark Lord Dead_. There was no mention, of course, of Ron or Hermione in these headlines, nor in most of the articles.

Ron calls us The Idiots Who Lived, and me The Boy Who Lived Twice -- Hermione and I snickered over the obscure reference to a James Bond movie when he first said it -- when he doesn't refer to me as Wonder Boy. How old do I have to be when I'm no longer referred to as "Boy" anything?

Ron and Hermione. How do you say thank you to two people whose love saved your life and yours saved theirs? Is thank you even enough? I can't resolve this dilemma, so I haven't brought it up since we were released.

I can feel them inside me, feel their power when either is upset. I guess that's a side effect of the healing spell they performed, but since that's never been done before, no one can explain it and I'm not going to allow us to be experimented upon. I can't read their minds -- which Hermione tells me is a good thing -- but I can feel their emotions. Being an extremely limited empath can be quite annoying some days, but at least I always know when to leave Hermione to her PMS.

 

_ Ron _

Once again, we're in Harry's shadow, but I don't mind so much anymore. It would be snide of me to hold up my hand, palm showing, and yell to reporters, "Yes, we survived, too. See the scar?" Harry has two now, so he'll always win that contest. I don't want to compete with him for another one. So, when we're out, Hermione and I act as his human shields.

Then again, we do shock the reporters when we are open about our relationship, so I get _that_ happy thrill. They can get used to seeing me snog Hermione or seeing Harry snog her, but when I snog Harry, everything goes crazy and the three of us just grin at each other. Is it really that shocking? I hope so.

We haven't talked about what happened in Voldemort's dungeon. Yes, it turned out not to be Lucius Malfoy's at all, but a dungeon He-Who-Is-Dead built to hold Harry. If I could kill him again, I would. Hermione tells me I have to let go of my anger so I can heal, but I'm not ready.

Good things to come of it? Apparently Voldemort's demise caused immense pain throughout the Death Eater ranks. Just as his "death" at Harry's hands -- or forehead -- when Harry was a baby caused the Dark Marks to fade until his resurrection, his real death caused them to disappear, its bearers suffering tremendously with the removal. Anyone screaming their heads off and clutching their left forearms when we killed He-Who-Is-Crispy-Toast was arrested as a Death Eater.

Despite the fact that the Mark is gone, it will still appear faintly by Muggle technology called "black light" -- an irony I love. Hermione just smiles when I ask her why a purple light is called black, and Harry blinks stupidly at me. I think they're conspiring against me.

Harry told me something interesting just after we were released from St. Mungo's -- he can feel some of what Hermione and I feel. He calls it being a limited empath and figures it's a result of our healing spell. I haven't quite figured how I feel about it, but even if I don't like it, there's nothing I can do about it.

Since being released from St. Mungo's, we've slowly tried to get back to our lives. Harry and I were both Aurors, our dream job. Though I suspect we didn't have the grades -- and test scores -- to fully qualify, we were allowed to train and join because of who Harry is. Neither of us can quite face going to back to work yet. Quidditch looks moreinteresting -- and doesn't have as many nightmares associated with it. 

 

_ Hermione _

After five months, the volume of mail has lessened. The day we were released from St. Mungo's, Ron just had to give both of us a tonsil-inspecting kiss in front of the reporters, just after Harry had kissed me. He delights in tormenting reporters that way, but has no idea what the public reaction would be. It must be denial on the part of the public, it has to be. Why else would someone misconstrue those kisses as me leading both boys on? The letters make good kindling in any case.

I try not to feel too melancholy, otherwise Harry will be upset. He can feel our strong emotions now as a result of the healing spell. I've been looking into ways that sense of perception can be shared amongst the three of us, but haven't found anything yet. In my spare time, I've been writing a paper about the healing spell Ron and I did. Near as I can tell, that level of healing by non-medical personnel can only be performed successfully by people who share a great depth of feeling.

Nothing like magical valuation on your love and level of power.

Harry and Ron haven't gone back to work yet and I don't blame them. I spend most of my days in the study, researching and writing. They spend the days listening to Quidditch matches, watching the telly or scrimmaging in the Weasley's backyard. I leave them be. If I were an Auror, I wouldn't be ready to go back to work yet either. It doesn't seem as pressing now that Voldemort is dead and nearly all the Death Eaters were captured.

And the nightmares we have don't help either. I've been taking a sleeping draught when it's available, more to spare Harry the burden of sharing our bad dreams than for me, and trying to get Ron to take it. He keeps refusing, but soon Harry is only going to be able to sleep when we're awake. I'll use that as leverage to get Ron to take it sometimes.

None of us have talked about what we're doing from here. For the time being, we hang about the house. So far, we are content to exist in each other's orbit. Romantic overtures have been few and far between toward me, but I think Ron and Harry are taking solace in each other. I don't know quite how to feel about that. I know I could be a part if I wanted to, but I haven't felt any desire to since our release. My boys, of course, are oblivious. If they were any other way, I'd be afraid someone had poisoned them.

Any division amongst us, however, is not visible to the outside, even the Weasleys. We are the Trio, and we are stronger together than apart.


End file.
